


The Seconds Before I Jumped

by stars_inthe_sky



Category: The West Wing
Genre: American Politics, Background Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Bets & Wagers, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gambling, Journalism, Mid-Canon, Minor Character(s), Minor Josh/Donna, Missing Scene, Political Campaigns, Politics, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Slow Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Waiting, Washington D.C., White House, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man, a woman, a wager, and about forty of the world's best journalists who should really have better things to do, including—especially—the one who won a Pulitzer Prize from the fourth row. But he’s playing the long game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seconds Before I Jumped

It begins because of an open-press policy roundtable in Davenport and Josh’s not-quite-punctual arrival there. Josh looks slightly less disheveled than usual, and, in addition to the cloud of coffee and bad fast food, he’s also being trailed by a tall, rail-thin blonde who has to have heard the fish story—because _everyone_ has heard the fish story, even in Iowa—but doesn’t seem intimidated by him in the slightest.

The press corps is seated along the wall just by the main doors, so Danny can hear bits of conversation as Josh struggles to get to his seat next to the Governor without two hundred people noticing. Meanwhile, the blonde is trying to do him the favor of tying a tie around his neck that isn’t red or covered with mustard—both of which are true of the one he’d arrived wearing, despite neither quality being particularly appropriate at a massive Democratic activist event three weeks before the caucuses.

“So _that’s_ what she looks like,” Mark comments from Danny’s left.

“Who is she?”

“Lyman’s new assistant. Donna something? Flower? Definitely a plant. Of the garden variety, I mean. I don’t think she’s a spy for Hoynes or something.”

Danny’s met most of the high-level staffers on the Bartlet campaign at this point, which also means he’s met most of their assistants, but no one had mentioned that Josh Lyman had ended up with one. (It’s gratifying when, much later, C.J. confirms that Josh had, in fact, “ended up” with an assistant, because, left to his own devices, God knows he would never have gotten around to hiring anybody.)

Josh has made it to the table at this point, and he’s opening a folder with colored tabs sticking out of the side. The folder appears to have been shielded from whatever Josh usually did to his prepared briefing materials, which is a small miracle even taken separately from the tie situation.

“That does seem…unlikely,” Danny muses. “Maybe whatever she’s doing will stick and he’ll actually look like a grownup by the time they get to the White House.”

“Nah, eventually she’ll figure out he’s an overgrown teenager with a law degree and quit. Or they’ll be screwing by next week. Or both, frankly.”

“Not a chance. He’s still got that weird high-school tension with Mandy Hampton, and C.J. has made it _very_ clear that this campaign’s media outreach—Mandy—is rooted in policy—Josh. So I think that’s going to keep being a thing.” Danny isn’t great at picking up on other people’s relationship vibes, but Josh doesn’t do subtle. (Neither does Mandy; C.J. does, but it’ll be a few years before he learns that.)

Mark shakes his head. “There’s definitely something happening there. Ten bucks says Hampton shifts back to HQ before the caucuses are over, while Moss—that’s what her last name is!—starts booking hotel rooms for two.”

“You’re wrong, you have an overactive and perverse imagination, and I will take that bet.”

They’re shaking on it when C.J. hisses at them to be quiet, though she rolls her eyes good-naturedly when Danny smiles in apology.

***

By the time the campaign bus leaves for New Hampshire, Josh and Mandy are still in what appears to be a very unhealthy (and vocal) relationship, and Mark is ten dollars short.

Still, Danny is starting to see his point, and he’s found himself increasingly invested in the relationship status of certain other campaign staffers—one in particular—to boot. So when Mark wants to renew his wager—and Katie and Steve hear about it and disagree on the outcome—he buys in.

By the time they leave the Manchester office for South Carolina, Sondra is convinced that Sam Seaborn’s fiancée is definitely going to call things off, and the official system for wagering on romantic entanglements within the Bartlet for America campaign comes into life at a bar in Charleston in the fanciest reporter’s notebook Katie can find on short notice.

They cash out on Election Day, with the pool up to ten different couples and with fourteen reporters playing. Josh-and-Mandy is no more, although Josh-and-Donna still has yet to be. C.J. comes out of it still single, as does Sam. (Sondra buys everyone drinks with her winnings.) Plus, the junior-level staff has generated at least four pairings and one engagement—all predicted by one journalist or another.

When the first round of White House staffing announcements comes out in early December, they learn that Donna Moss is going to continue as Josh’s assistant, and Mark immediately reopens the book. Danny, who has been successful mostly betting against C.J. and anyone else on principle, sticks with his strategy.

***

The rules of betting on the love lives of the couple hundred people who run the country are simple and finite.

Bobbi and Bruce, whom Danny occasionally suspects of being more than just colleagues themselves, finalize the list over drinks on Inauguration Day (well, technically the morning after), and Jack—enterprising little hack that he is—types the whole thing up and takes it upon himself to distribute it electronically to newcomers.

  1. Never tell the staff. Ever. This includes directly inquiring about anyone’s relationship status to that person or printing out this document within blast radius of the White House.
  2. Any two people with staff badges and without wedding rings are fair game for betting on, provided at least three reporters are interested in wagering for or against them.
  3. Bets end when one or both of those being wagered on publicly enters into a romantic relationship and/or gets married.
  4. It is your ethical duty as a journalist to report any and all relevant findings to your colleagues, regardless of your personal wagers.
  5. Bettors can cash out at anytime but must cash out if they leave the White House beat.



The whole thing works surprisingly well, and it passes the time waiting for a lot of news to break, too.

***

Right around Thanksgiving, Danny wins twenty bucks thanks to a pair of interns who really shouldn’t have had access to the briefing room after hours, and he puts the money toward a goldfish.

Just after New Year’s, it turns out to be a very good investment.

He decides not to report _that_ particular update to anyone; there aren’t that many bets involving her, and people already mutter about the favoritism that the _Post_ gets. And, anyway, C.J.’s made it clear her relationship status is unchanged, so it’s not like there’s anything to say, really.

***

The betting dies down a bit after midterms, and even Mark loses his steam after Josh starts dating Amy Gardner. Danny is abroad by this point, so he’s not even in the pool, but Steve and Katie make it their personal duty to keep him updated on what’s on the books. It’s amusing enough, and a nice taste of home—how Carol manages to snare so many number-crunchers from the Council of Economic Advisors is still beyond him.

Then, one of their missives mentions that C.J. is both getting death threats and possibly being courted by (or courting?) the Secret Service agent assigned to her case. Danny starts mostly ignoring their emails after that—clearly, someone’s not doing their homework if they think she’d invite that kind of conflict of interest.

That said, he’s not above doing some digging on this Agent Donovan, though he stops as soon as he figures out that the guy is at least two inches taller than he is.

***

Danny plans his Bermuda trip as a quasi-vacation before a quick stop in D.C. and then Michigan for Christmas, which is mostly to prove to various distant relatives that he has, in fact, survived two years without regular access to peanut butter.

But there’s a cricket player with an interesting story, and, next thing he knows, he’s agreeing to return to the White House beat and preparing to spend Christmas unpacking his storage unit into a Logan Circle rowhouse that could use a renovation or seven. At least the _Post_ gives him a research assistant this time.

Four days before Christmas, Danny caves and calls Mark to check about maybe co-opting his Santa routine on the 23rd, and he doesn’t even have to ask Carol not to let any senior staff know that his press credentials have been renewed.

It’s weirdly easy to get into the West Wing without being seen by too many people, and Mark and Katie steer him into a reasonably sized supply closet to change before the press briefing.

“By the way,” Danny says, through a mouthful of fake beard, “I want back in on the pool. Who’s got good odds nowadays?”

He can hear Katie snicker. “I told you he’d wanna know, O’Donnell. He definitely stopped reading my emails, but now that he’s back and certain people are single…”

“And I believed you, Witt. I’ve got the current list right here for your mid-costume change entertainment. So, let’s see…Donna’s seeing some Republican military guy, but the best odds are still on her and Josh. Although we’ve stopped making people commit to a timeline on that one, because, Jesus Christ.

“Everyone thinks Zoey Bartlet’s going to dump the French guy, to the point that Jonathan almost squealed to Charlie Young about the whole thing. Toby Ziegler’s apparently procreating with his ex-wife, although there is a shockingly strong feeling that twins will _not_ result in a marital reunion, which is…interesting.

“Otherwise, it’s the usual: Carol and whoever the newest Harvard economist in the OEOB is, Danny and C.J., this semester’s leading skintern and Georgetown bro tag-team…”

“Hold up.” Danny steps out of the closet in full Santa regalia, which probably makes the look he’s giving Mark harder to see. Mark blinks a couple of times before he realizes his slip, and Katie laughs so hard she has to lean against the wall for support. “You put me in the pool? With C.J.?”

Mark’s face is almost as red as Danny’s outfit. “Uh, yeah.”

“The rules clearly state…”

“Oh, yeah, we know,” Katie says. “But we had enough people wanting to know if there could be an exception those first couple of years that we figured, what the hell?”

“I’ve been out of the country and off this beat for _two years_. Why was anyone…?”

“Yeah, and now you’re back, and instead of starting up again in the new year like a sane person, you called me about dressing up as Santa Claus,” Mark points out. “After years of betting against her hooking up with everyone from Toby Ziegler to that Advance girl who has chemistry with everyone. Doesn’t take Woodward and Bernstein to untangle this.”

“Do the words ‘conflict of interest’ mean anything to you people?”

Katie shrugs. “Apparently not. And anyway, you’ve been on the books since…I think just after the first hundred days or so? It’s not a new thing. But I’ve got seven bucks riding on her being _really_ happy to see you, so don’t blow this, Concannon.” She slaps the gift box into his gloved hand. “Good luck!”

As they turn to head into the briefing room, Danny rolls his eyes and adds, “Fine, put me down for twenty by midterms.” He doesn’t need the extra incentive, of course, but it’s nice to think about.

Mark turns back to grin at him. “You got it.”

Of course, Danny’s big mouth promptly gets him in trouble in two very different directions within the span of an hour. While he likes that she recognized him by his kiss, even with the damn beard in the way, the mess with Abdul Shareef probably could’ve waited until January, or at least until after she’d agreed to dinner.

While changing back into his street clothes, he admits to Mark that he’s investigating something the White House isn’t going to like, but apparently a roomful of holiday-minded reporters were pretty happy to pony up after witnessing that very public display of affection, so, for bookie purposes, it seems to be a moot point.

***

The week of Bartlet’s second Inauguration goes from bad to worse with impressive momentum. Being pseudo-seduced in a copier room isn’t exactly Danny’s idea of fun _or_ fair play (although the cunning involved is kind of a turn-on).

Being berated for a quote he didn’t actually get is even worse, because even if he’d lost all pretense of personal dignity (which he definitely had; not that he’d told a soul about the copier-room incident, but there was no kidding himself about it), there’s no reason his professional reputation should be taking hits even when his brain is having trouble processing perfume.

The fact that C.J. is involved in every part of this, of course, doesn’t really help.

Still, the inauguration itself is great, the foreign policy shift is unexpected but welcome, and somehow he’s managed not to get disinvited from whichever ball most of the staff has ended up attending, so that’s something, too.

Danny debates calling it an early night, as C.J. seems to be ignoring him—but then Josh isn’t. Somehow, he finds himself in an overcrowded cab on the way to Eastern Market, wedged in between a window and a typically dour Toby, who has never warmed to Danny and who doesn’t seem thrilled that he’s along for whatever this ride is about to turn into.

Of course, Danny’s known Josh a lot longer than any of the rest of these people have known each other (even if he’s still not a hundred percent clear on who Will Bailey is), so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise at what “this” turns out to be.

It occurs to him midway through the increasingly absurd good cop/bad cop conversation that he should probably let Mark and the others know that Josh had gone personally to fetch a newly-single Donna to the ball, and that Charlie was apparently still quite hung up on Zoey.

Or, he could re-up his wager on both of them and then inform people later, because the odds are definitely shifting here, and he might as well cash in on his access. Though, given Josh’s general track record and the fact that Charlie is barely a legal adult, all of this only bodes but so well.

Either way, this whole business of pelting snowballs at a rowhouse on 9th Street that may or may not be Donna’s in the middle of the night is definitely his scoop.

***

In the end, though, Danny just puts a fifty-dollar bill down on C.J. for the hell of it and focuses on doing his actual work. Then, he watches everything go to hell in a fast car six months later. It’s too much, and the job he’s always loved more than anything has started to feel more like a chore that he’s getting too old for. And five and a half years is too damn long to still be waiting around, wishing his luck would change.

He lets the _Post_ know that he wants the next available overseas assignment, sublets the apartment, and doesn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone except Carol, which only happens because he has to hand his press pass back to someone.

***

A year or so later, Danny’s in Manila covering a different animal of a presidential campaign when he hears about the wave of violence in Gaza and happens to see an _International Herald Tribune_ article listing the names of the dead and injured Americans. Reading _Donnatella Moss_ in the latter column is both a jolt and a relief, and for some reason that reminds Danny that he never did cash out before he left last time, and that makes him think of what—who—else he’d left behind.

Danny almost emails Mark, but his fingers freeze over the battered laptop’s keyboard, and he ends up sending a brief and vaguely impersonal note to Josh instead. An auto-reply pings back, informing him that Josh is out of the office, followed by an even briefer reply from Josh himself, which just says, “Thanks. We’re at some hospital in Germany. Will let her know.”

Hell, he thinks, maybe Josh finally got his act together, and the fifty bucks can go to whoever’s still holding out hope for him and Donna. But no announcement to that effect ever comes.

***

It’s another couple of years before he gives serious thought to the betting pool again, and that’s only because Katie emails him about it. Most of the original bookkeeping team has long since migrated to other jobs, she says, but she and Mark and Bobbi are still at the White House and will be cashing out the final rounds after Election Day and after the Inauguration, depending on which bets expire when and on the off-chance that some new couples are revealed post-election.

“One catch: you gotta come pick up your winnings in person. See you at Ten Penh sometime?”

She’s got to know that he’d only left money on one bet, three and a half years earlier, and he’s pretty certain he hasn’t won anything off of _that_. The email sits in his inbox until about eight weeks before the election, by which point he’s almost forgotten about it. Almost.

Then there’s an unsolicited offer to interview for a position as an adjunct professor at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism at the University of Southern California.

He’s cleaning out his inbox during a long flight layover in Philadelphia on the way back to Michigan for his parents’ fiftieth anniversary, and, once he responds to the weird tip about Doug Westin from a friend on the House beat, those are the only two items left.

Danny stares at what suddenly feels like a very stark choice about his future that he hadn’t known he was going to need to make right then. He’s never considered teaching, or any other career. He’s a reporter, and a damn good one, and he distinctly remembers his commitment to that part of his life kind of screwing him over in other parts. Like how he’s been living out of hotels for three years straight, because he couldn’t stay in Washington, and how’s been single for longer than he cares to admit, because he’s never been able to seriously look away from what he’d left.

He also remembers that he didn’t used to feel that way about the job. It used to be worth it. All at once, the idea of putting down roots in a place that isn’t D.C.—of actually owning a house with a driveway, working predictable hours, cutting back on his lifelong coffee habit—sounds dazzling. Annenberg could be a good fit, too.

It also doesn’t escape his attention that southern California might be a place that somebody who’d been bogged down in D.C. politics for most of a decade might want to return to. The coincidence feels a little too lucky to ignore.

There’s an announcement that his flight is about to start boarding, and Danny makes a snap decision. He tells Katie he’s not ready to cash out just yet, lets Annenberg know that he’s very interested in talking, and slowly dials the long-since-memorized number for the White House one last time, hoping someone he knows is still there.

***

[ _three years later_ ]

 “…the hell is _that_?” Danny asks, setting his messenger bag down in the foyer.

They’ve finally finished unpacking the house, so the giant box sitting on the couch is hard to miss, even though it’s half-blocked by C.J.’s enormous belly beside it.

“No idea. Postmarked D.C., though, and it’s addressed to you. Came about an hour and a half ago, and you would not _believe_ the list of possibilities I’ve come up with since I signed for it.”

“So, I was right about maternity leave slowly driving you nuts?”

“Shut up and start cutting.”

“Why didn’t you just do that an hour and a half ago? I think we got married at some point; it’s probably less of a felony to open my mail now…”

C.J. groans. “I literally can’t reach far enough without potentially hurting this gigantic creature you knocked me up with.”

“You seemed pretty enthusiastic at the time,” he chuckles, digging out a pair of scissors to slice through the tape.

They remove several handfuls of packing peanuts before revealing a smaller, heavy cardboard box, which Danny pulls out, scattering more Styrofoam.

“It’s an aquarium. For fish. That was not one of my guesses.” C.J. stares at the box intently. “Any idea who it’s from? I mean, it’s gotta be someone from the White House, right? Someone else who didn’t realize about the crackers, or…?”

Amid the peanuts, Danny spots a card with a wedding motif and the word _CONGRATULATIONS_ across the front. “I have a wild guess or two, but…”

He opens the card and reads,

> _Concannon—_
> 
> _We figured it was time for you to cash out already. Here’s your wager back, with interest. As you can see, it added up, but we think you and C.J. will enjoy the enclosed more than any old cash gift._
> 
> _(Feel free to break the first rule, since you’ve already kind of broken the rest of them anyway.)_
> 
> _All our best,_
> 
> _The White House Press Corps_

Danny bursts out laughing, stopping only to collapse on the couch and kiss his very perplexed wife senseless. She goes along with that just long enough to snatch the card out of his hand, and he watches her confusion turn slowly to comprehension and then amusement.

“You were _betting_? On…us?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grins. “Although I was kinda late to that game—Katie and some of the others had money down since something like the first Inaugural. I didn’t find out until a few years later, but then I figured I should get in on it, right? And, hey, it paid off eventually.”

C.J. snorts and shakes her head. “Well, it looks like a very nice fish tank we’ve won, so...”

“Ha, you should’ve seen how much people were putting down on Josh and Donna.  Too bad _they_ couldn’t profit off of that.”

“I’ll bet.” Her eyes go wide as she smiles. “Wait, was that the first rule? Staff can’t play?”

“Staff can’t _ever_ know.” Danny slings an arm around her shoulders. “I think we even managed to keep the whole thing secret from Carol.”

C.J. laughs. “See, there’s your mistake. Not only would Carol have totally been on your team, I’m pretty sure everyone right on up to Mrs. Bartlet would’ve wanted in if you were actually betting on Josh and Donna all that time. Maybe even Leo.”

For all his strange and varied luck over the last decade, Danny thinks, it’s still incredible that this is his life now: that they’re laughing on the couch, joking about secret wagers and long-delayed romances, waiting for their child to arrive any second.

“You’re probably right. To think—they could’ve bought us fish, too!”

“How much did you wager, anyway?”

“Fifty bucks, but with, what, six or seven years of interest…I’d sure hope they us got a nice aquarium.”

“You know, you’ve got some kinda patience, mister. But you’re pretty good at playing the odds.”

**Author's Note:**

> My sincerest thanks to the irreplaceable [scullyseviltwin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyseviltwin/works), who did a fantastic beta job and helped me kill my darlings, and to [ohmagichour](http://ohmagichour.tumblr.com), who insisted that my tags on [this post](http://stars-inthe-sky.tumblr.com/post/100676899057/read-this) needed to be ficced.
> 
> Title is from _Songs for a New World_ 's "[I'd Give It All For You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iy2skMYODwc)" by Jason Robert Brown, which has been my go-to [C.J./Danny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6BG8zQuOo0) song for years.
> 
> Fun fact: According to [IMDb](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0124079/bio), Timothy Busfield is, at 5'10", actually two inches shorter than both Allison Janney and Mark Harmon. I like to think Danny's a bit sensitive about that.


End file.
